


the heart is hard to translate

by wordsnnotes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Paris, Art Teacher Zayn Malik, As One Does, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Louis Tomlinson Speaks French, M/M, Misunderstandings, Museums, Mutual Pining, POV Louis Tomlinson, Some Humor, Teacher Louis Tomlinson, because he's a french teacher, me nerding out about the louvre and language and zayn wearing glasses for 4k straight, you know the kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsnnotes/pseuds/wordsnnotes
Summary: Louis was pretty sure that Zayn had no idea whatjoie de vivre meant, but for fear of him changing his mind, he hadn't pointed out that Paris was decidedly not the right place to experience the joy of being alive. At least, not on a school trip with twenty bored students, and definitely not standing under the pyramid of the Louvre while all the other tourists were bumping into them and walking fast like they were in a train station.Or: Louis and Zayn have been unknowingly pining for each other ever since they were sixteen, and somehow supervising a school trip to the Louvre is the perfect occasion for them to finally get their shit together.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 33





	the heart is hard to translate

**Author's Note:**

> I did promise some people I'd write more Zouis fics, so here we are 😌  
> Thanks to the anon on Tumblr who suggested I write a teacher AU! And thank you to my lovely and talented friend [Sabrina](https://spellboundzouis.tumblr.com/) for 1. suggesting I write something based on the lyrics of Florence + the Machine's [All This And Heaven Too](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yIuePXvgus) (that's where the title is from), 2. making an amazing [moodboard](https://quelsentiment.tumblr.com/post/636849364179042304/the-heart-is-hard-to-translate-by-wordsnnotes-aka) for this fic, and 3. suggesting Zayn wear glasses, because OBVIOUSLY  
> Anyway, let's get to it.  
> PS: the translation of the dialogue in French is in the final notes

“Right, guys, so we finally made it inside,” Zayn started, but the only student who was paying attention was that quiet guy standing right next to them, and who had a very obvious crush on his art teacher.

 _He's not even taking French_ , Louis rolled his eyes inwardly. To be fair, half of the people on the trip weren't taking French. But that had been the deal when Louis had asked Zayn if he could stand in for Darcy as the second chaperone on the trip to Paris he organised every year. Zayn had accepted, under the condition that he could bring some of his students along, so that they could soak in the Paris _joie de vivre_ and come out of it with renewed inspiration.

Louis was pretty sure that Zayn had no idea what _joie de vivre_ meant, but for fear of him changing his mind, he hadn't pointed out that Paris was decidedly not the right place to experience the joy of being alive. At least, not on a school trip with twenty bored students, and definitely _not_ standing under the pyramid of the Louvre while all the other tourists were bumping into them and walking fast like they were in a train station.

Zayn had realised his mistake soon enough though, but he had remained weirdly enthusiastic throughout the whole thing so far. Actually, the trip wasn't that much of a disaster, unlike the previous years. Louis suspected that the main reason for it was that he had his best friend around, and it instantly made things ten times better—just like it had when Zayn had started working at the same school two years before. He still couldn't believe how lucky they were to have been hired in the same place

Seeing that Zayn's efforts to make himself heard remained fruitless, Louis stepped in and said, as loud as he could without full-on shouting:

“Guys! We just need you to listen for one minute, then you'll be free for the next two hours.”

This seemed to finally get their attention, and all heads turned towards them.

“Thank you. So, as I said, you'll have two hours to visit this beast of a museum. Needless to say you won't be able to see everything. I want to warn you that the Mona Lisa is, mark my words, _very_ disappointing. It's small, hidden behind a glass, and chances are you won't be able to get a proper look because of the crowd. But if you really want to see it, just follow everyone else, 'cause that's where they're all heading. Also, please keep a map with you at all times. It's easy to get lost. Alright, we'll see you back here in two hours. Zay—er, Mr. Malik, any parting recommendation? You’re the specialist, after all.”

“Thanks, yeah,” Zayn said, sending him a smile.

Louis heard some of the girls chuckle at the back of the group. They were probably watching something funny on Instagram, or whatever it was kids used these days.

“As Mr. Tomlinson said,” Zayn started, adjusting his glasses, “I honestly think it'd be a waste of your time to only focus on the Mona Lisa. If I were you, and especially if you're one of my students, I'd advise you to just walk around and stop in front of whatever catches your eye. Don't forget to take in the architectural elements of the place as well. They're as remarkable as the artworks that are exposed in it. I think that's it. We'll see you in two hours.”

“And don't forget,” Louis added. “You can call us if there's an emergency, but we’d rather you didn’t.”

“What are you two gonna do, then?” the cheekiest guy of the cohort asked.

“That's none of your concern, Michael,” Louis said, knowing full-well what the teenager was suggesting, while Zayn shrugged and answered: “Follow my own advice, probably.”

The same girls giggled again, and with that, Louis sent the group away with a mix of relief and fondness. They all scattered around the pyramid like a swarm of bees.

“Finally,” he sighed. “I need coffee.”

🎨🎨🎨

They went to one of the museum's cafes, which had a full view over a bright gallery where sculptures were on display.

“Five euros for a plain coffee?” Zayn grumbled. “That's way too much.”

“I know...” Louis sighed. “It keeps getting more expensive every year. But we have to stay inside, and it's gonna be the same price at all the food locations, so... It's my treat anyway, don't worry.”

“Yeah, you owe me at least that for tricking me into coming here,” Zayn smirked as the person in front of them in the line moved away and they faced the guy behind the counter.

“Oui?” he asked minimally, not even giving them the courtesy of a glance.

French people... So typical. Or, well, _cliché_.

Louis settled on a mission to: 1. get the guy to look at them, and 2. make him smile.

“Bonjour, mon ami et moi, on se demandait... Qu'est-ce qu'il y a dans votre café ?”

“Euh, qu'est-ce que vous voulez dire ?” the guy asked with a frown, finally looking up and meeting Louis' eyes.

Louis sent him his most polite smile and put on his best accent to answer:

“Pour cinq euros... Il doit y avoir un ingrédient spécial, non ?”

“Ah non, désolé, c'est juste les prix du Louvre... Si j'étais vous je ferais l'impasse, pour être honnête.”

He was possibly getting the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, but he wasn’t quite there yet. So Louis drew his last card:

“Ça c'est pas possible. Mon ami s'apprête à me faire faire une visite guidée, et j'ai besoin de caféine pour tenir le coup,” he said, gesturing at Zayn, who was watching the exchange with a confused look.

Louis felt a little bad for using him like this to achieve his mission. He actually loved it when Zayn started popping off about art.

But it worked, apparently, as the barista chuckled at the remark. Yes! Louis congratulated himself. Tommo 1, France 0.

“Bon, deux cafés alors ?”

"S'il-vous-plaît."

Five minutes later, they were sitting at a small round table, watching the gallery below and all the groups of tourists who were moving through it in random patterns.

Zayn had been silent ever since they'd ordered, which surprised Louis. Zayn loved museums, and in normal times he would have been pressuring Louis to finish his coffee as soon as possible so that they could move on. But glancing at him, Louis saw that he had his trademarked pouting expression on.

“So... what's up?” he asked, his heart racing a little.

Zayn was rarely upset, especially at him, but when he was it could get quite stormy. They were both stubborn and had a hard time admitting it when they were in the wrong, and it could take days or even weeks for them to settle an argument. And now, things were even worse because Louis had no idea what was happening. Had he done something wrong, or was Zayn upset about something else entirely?

Instead of answering the question, Zayn took a sip of his coffee, winced at how bad it tasted, then abruptly said:

"You know the students think we're dating, right?"

"What?" Louis asked, confused. What did this have to do with anything?

"Yeah, I heard them joke about it on our way here," Zayn said, his brown eyes suddenly staring right at him behind his round glasses, more intensely than they'd had all day. Week. Ever, possibly.

It was so weirdly charged and somewhat intimate that Louis had to avert his eyes. 

Not knowing how else to answer, he mumbled:

"That's absurd, why would they think that?"

Zayn put his cup down so forcefully that some of the beverage was spilled on the table.

“Right,” he said, suddenly getting up. “I need to go, there's something I want to see.”

He quickly turned away, and Louis could only catch him by the wrist and ask:

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I'd rather be alone right now,” Zayn answered, avoiding his eyes.

He extracted his hand from Louis' grip, and walked—or rather, _stormed_ —away.

Louis was left speechless. He had no fucking clue what had just happened, but it seemed pretty bad, to say the least.

🎨🎨🎨

An hour later, he figured Zayn had had enough time to recover by now, and he decided to go find him. He had an idea of where he might be.

As he walked through the endless rooms of the museum, looking to find his way to the right wing and the right floor, he tried to wrap his head around the argument they'd had. Well, he wasn't even sure that _argument_ was the right word for it. Or if it was, it was one-sided.

Why had Zayn become pouty for seemingly no reason? They'd been having a great time so far, constantly bantering and joking around just like when they'd taken the same trip back in high school. It certainly didn’t seem like he’d been angry at Louis over the last few days.

And then, why had he made that remark about what the students had said? It had come out of nowhere, and Louis didn't know why he'd seemed so upset about it. Was it because the idea that people could think they were together repelled him? But surely, it wasn't the first time it had happened, Louis thought. At least, _he'd_ been asked that question a few times over the years, and he was pretty certain it must have been the same for Zayn.

Every time people had asked Louis what was his and Zayn’s deal exactly, he'd nervously denied that they were dating, and swiftly changed the subject. It wasn't that the idea was unappealing—far from it, actually. One could say he'd been pining for Zayn for years, but one didn't mention it, one didn't even want to think about it, much less say it out loud. It was useless to even consider it, always had been. They were just friends, _best friends_ , and that was more than enough.

Just as he was reaching this conclusion again, probably for the thousandth time since he'd met Zayn, he spotted him at the exact place he'd expected to find him, sitting on a bench and staring at the painting in front of him, as unmoving as those statues in the Greek Antiquities section.

Louis came to sit beside him, putting some distance between them, and Zayn didn't even seem to notice him, as engrossed as he was with the painting.

So Louis looked at it too. He was beginning to know it pretty well, after coming here every year to try and understand why Zayn had been so fascinated with it the first time he'd seen it. And maybe Louis was beginning to get it, actually.

It represented a Scandinavian landscape, with the sea or a lake in the foreground, and a mountain emerging behind clouds in the distance. It looked almost as realistic as a photograph, and yet there was something whimsical about it. Such a place just couldn't be real. Or if it was, it was the best kept secret on Earth.

“How did you know I was here?” Zayn's voice said somewhere in the outside world, interrupting Louis’ thoughts.

So he _had_ noticed him, then.

“Are you kidding?” Louis answered, turning to face him. “Don’t you remember that time we came here in highschool and you spent three hours staring at this? And then you forced us to come back on our free afternoon to spend another two hours here?”

Zayn finally took his eyes off the painting, and met Louis' own. The intensity of earlier had subdued a little, but there was still something unsettling hidden behind his pupils, and Louis had to force himself to hold his stare.

“Of course I do,” Zayn answered. “Didn’t think _you_ would, for some reason.”

If only he knew, Louis thought bitterly. When he'd come here the year before, he'd even been to the museum shop to find whether they had a reproduction of it that he could gift Zayn. But they didn't. The Northern Europe department was probably one of the least popular at the Louvre, and most visitors would never see that particular painting. In fact, they themselves had randomly stumbled across it the first time, because they'd got lost on their way to the Islamic Art section.

“You’ve always underestimated me,” Louis said lightly, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Do you really think that?” Zayn asked with a frown.

Okay, maybe it hadn't worked, then.

“That was a joke, love,” he answered, sliding closer to his friend to lightly bump his elbow. “You’ve always been nothing but supportive to me, and I hope I have been too.”

He gave him a small smile, but it wasn't reflected on Zayn's face the way it usually was.

Alright, time to get into it, then.

“Now, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Zayn mumbled, immediately looking away to stare back at the painting.

“C’mon, we both know it’s a lie,” Louis insisted.

No one, not even Zayn, could match his stubbornness. His friend knew it too well, apparently, since he sighed and gave in:

“Fine. It’s just… that guy at the cafe.”

“What about him?”

“You were hitting on him, weren’t you?” Zayn asked, still looking at the painting like it was some kind of shelter protecting him from the conversation.

“I was _not_ hitting on him,” Louis chuckled, which didn’t seem to help his case, as Zayn's expression turned even darker. “I was just trying to make friendly conversation the way I do with everyone back home, that’s all,” Louis added. “You never seemed to mind before.”

“You’re not speaking in French back home, though,” Zayn pointed out.

“What does _that_ have to do with anything?”

“I just mean, I don't speak French. You could have been saying anything.”

“So you’re upset because you felt excluded from the conversation?” Louis asked, increasingly confused by the minute.

“No, it's not that... That would be stupid, you're allowed to speak another language in front of me, obviously. I know that better than anybody,” Zayn answered.

And indeed, Louis couldn't even count the times Zayn had been speaking Urdu with his family when Louis was around, so that was why he'd been baffled at the fact Zayn might care if Louis did the same thing with French. It was problematic, and in some cases, straight-up prejudiced that some people were bothered with that kind of thing, and he knew without a doubt that Zayn and him were on the same page with this. In fact, it was Zayn himself who had explained it all to him back when they were teenagers and Louis wasn't educated on the subject.

“What is it, then?” he asked softly.

“It’s just... I don't know, I can’t explain it,” Zayn said with a hint of frustration in his voice. “It just seemed like you were hitting on him, okay?”

Louis thought back on the conversation he'd had with the cashier, but he honestly couldn't see any difference between the way he'd acted then and the way he would act back home. He certainly wasn't trying to seduce the guy, in any case.

He eventually answered:

“You know what, I think you're saying that just because you have this idea that French is the language of love and romance, or whatever. Which is total bullshit, by the way. It's just a language. Do you really think all those French people go around trying to seduce each other all day long?”

“I kind of do, to be honest.”

Zayn smiled for the first time since the conversation had started, which was a win in itself, even though things were still wildly confusing to Louis.

“Nah, believe me, all they do is complain about the weather and the government. Pretty much like everyone on the planet, I’d say,” he laughed. After a beat, he gathered his courage and added: “The real question is, why would you even care so much If I was hitting on that guy?”

Zayn noticeably flinched at those words, and once again, he eluded the question.

“Do you really think it would be absurd for us to be in a relationship?” he asked instead.

Oh. That was unexpected.

“I never said that,” Louis frowned, trying to remain calm while his brain was just one big question mark—followed by an exclamation one, for good measure.

“You did. Right before I, er… stormed away,” Zayn said with a wince as if he was embarrassed.

Louis searched his memory for what he'd said exactly. He did have a tendency to speak before thinking twice about it, but this time he was pretty sure he hadn't said that he found the idea of them being together ridiculous. Because nothing could be further from the truth.

“I think what I was trying to say was that it was absurd for people to think we’re in a relationship,” he tried to explain.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Zayn pointed out, turning to look at him again.

But this time, it was Louis who avoided his stare, watching the people walking around the room instead.

He felt nervous all of a sudden, more nervous around Zayn than he'd been since the first time they'd talked, back when he thought someone as effortlessly cool as Zayn could never like someone as weird as him.

“No,” he answered slowly. It was the moment he'd been waiting for all these years, the moment that could potentially ruin it all. But it was too late to turn back now. At least he'd know for sure, and that was a _good_ thing, right?

“The reason why it seems absurd to me,” he suddenly rushed to say, wanting to be done with it as quickly as possible, “is because if we were actually together, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands and my mouth to myself around you, and the question wouldn’t even be up for debate.”

Time froze, Zayn seemed to froze, Louis definitely froze, but his heart rate accelerated like he'd just run a sprint.

“What are you saying?”

Zayn was looking at him insistently now, the weight of his eyes effectively forcing Louis to look back.

“You _know_ what I’m saying,” he answered quietly, pretty sure he was blushing right now.

“I’m not sure I do, no,” Zayn shook his head.

“Alright. I’ll tell you if you tell me why you were so upset about me—quote unquote—'hitting on' that cashier.”

This shifted the dynamics of the exchange, and it was Zayn's turn to blush.

“I think it’s pretty obvious why,” he replied, biting his lip.

And Louis just couldn't take it anymore.

“For fuck’s sake, Zee, you’d think that with all our education, we’d be able to say a few simple words. Isn’t either of us gonna spit it out?”

“Spit _what_ out?” Zayn answered, starting to smile again.

“That we’re in love with each other,” Louis said petulantly, way louder than intended, and some people turned to look at him like he was crazy. “Or at least, I am,” he added in a whisper. “With you.”

He was horrified that he'd just admitted it, and couldn't tell what Zayn was thinking. He was just looking at him with the same amused expression that he had 80% of the time they were together.

“There, I said it. You win,” Louis added lamely.

“I’m in love with you too,” Zayn declared in a calm tone. “Obviously. So you win too.”

And he actually chuckled, the fucker.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis asked.

He was too upset about the situation to even realise what was actually happening, and what it could potentially mean for the two of them.

“Why didn’t _you_?” Zayn replied cheekily.

Seriously, Louis could have punched him if he didn't love him so damn much.

“Was afraid of ruining this, I guess,” he shrugged. “Thought you didn’t feel the same way.”

Those reasons seemed extremely stupid in light of the new information, but whatever. Better late than never, right?

“How long has it been?” Zayn asked, because apparently he was on a roll of wanting to know all of Louis' most embarrassing secrets.

“Forever, Zayn. From the moment I saw you across the hall in that terrible outfit, leaning against your locker and trying to look cool.”

Zayn snorted.

“Well, it worked, apparently.”

“Shut up,” Louis pouted.

Zayn suddenly grew serious and reached out to trace his fingers over the back of Louis' hand. That was new. And nice. Too nice for Louis’ own sake, maybe.

“Just so you know, it’s been forever for me too,” Zayn admitted so quietly that Louis had to strain his ear to hear him.

“So you’re telling me we’ve been pining for each other ever since we were 16, but we were too scared to let the words come out of our mouths?” Fuck his life, and especially, fuck past Louis and Zayn. “We’re proper idiots, aren’t we?”

“That we are.”

Zayn removed his glasses, and slid closer to him in his turn, so close that they were flushed against one another and Louis felt slightly dizzy with it.

“But, like...” he started, not really knowing where he was going with this, but it didn't matter because Zayn interrupted him and said:

“Can you shut up and kiss me, please?”

Louis didn't have to be asked twice. He'd been waiting for this moment for ten years, after all.

Zayn's lips were soft, as soft as his fingertips; which were now resting on his cheeks. None of this could possibly be real, Louis thought confusedly. Maybe there _had_ been something in that coffee, after all.

He was considering deepening the kiss—if it was indeed some kind of hallucination, he might as well get the full experience—but just as he was about to slide his tongue against Zayn's, they heard a voice exclaim:

“Guys, guys! I told you they were together!”

They broke away at supersonic speed and were met with the mocking looks of four of their students. As luck would have it, one of them was Michael, who whistled at them and smirked, “Taking in the architectural elements, huh?”, while one of the girls had clearly been filming the whole thing.

But Louis couldn't bring himself to care, because if anything, the students were proving that what had happened was definitely reality and not a dream, and to be honest, nothing else mattered in that moment.

As they followed the students out of the room, Zayn whispered to him:

“I can't believe we had our first kiss at the Louvre. That's like, ridiculously corny.”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“Both, I'd say.”

And he wasn't wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation of the French dialogue:  
>  _Hi, my friend and I, we were wondering… What’s in your coffee?  
>  Um, what do you mean?  
> For five euros… There must be some kind of special ingredient, isn’t there?  
> No, sorry, it’s just the price to pay to be here… If I were you I wouldn’t bother, to be honest.  
> No, I can’t do that. My friend is about to take me on a guided tour, and I need caffeine to make it through.  
> So, two coffees then?  
> Please._
> 
> Thank you so much for reading 💕  
> Let me know what you think if you want! And the fic post is [here](https://quelsentiment.tumblr.com/post/636849364179042304/the-heart-is-hard-to-translate-by-wordsnnotes-aka) ✨


End file.
